Friends and Lies
by Kdnull
Summary: Having nightmares isn't easy, especially when it is about the past that continues to haunt you. When you, Gary Smith, keep having the same dream of your down fall at Bullworth with a twist, can you find it in your heart to forgive yourself and move on or keep striving to free yourself from the asylum in which you have been locked in?
1. Chapter 1: Save Me

**Chapter One: Save Me  
**

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I woke up in a cold sweat. I was hot, but the air in my unheated room was as cold as a freezer, my body shivering from the effect. I threw off my thin sheet, it falling to the unwashed floor that had blood stains on it from the previous inmates.

I quickly sat up, breathing heavy and blinking fast, trying to adjust my eyes to the dim light of the moon the shone in through the three metal bars above my bed, the only thing close to a window that I saw at my stay. I took my shaky hands and ran them through my short dark brown hair, trying to calm down. Why was I flustered? What happened?  
Then, I remembered. I was having _the_ dream. The dream that kept me up at night, full of hatred and abhorrence.  
It was the dream where _he_ beats me.

I remember the dream almost as it just happened in reality. I climbed that ladder up the main building, trying to out run Hopkins. Trying to lead him to where I would be victorious, where I would prove who the _real_ king was. But, instantly, I could feel in my gut that something wasn't right as I continued on. He was dodging all my obstacles, all my traps. But, I expected that.  
What I didn't expect was him to start gaining on me.

The whole way up the trapped course that I had made, I was ranting. I was trying to make him _feel_ how I felt. I wanted him to feel the excitement of what was about to happen on the roof.  
I knew he wouldn't live to tell the story of what happened on the roof, which gave me a rush of adrenaline to continue quickly up the building. It was a very twisted happiness, something I knew wasn't supposed to make me feel good to think of him dead.  
Yet, it did.

As we got up to the roof, I lost it, unable to hold back. He was just standing a few feet away, watching me.  
He was ready to hurt me.  
 _I,_ on the other hand, was ready to _kill_.

He waited for me to begin the words I had planned to say as his final goodbye. The last words he was EVER going to hear. I had planned to tell him how much nobody liked him, how much everybody despised him. But, I had a quick game changer. I felt this anger I never knew I had start pouring out of me.  
I looked at him with my head held high, and I yelled, "The thing is, if I win, you're just another _punk_! You win, and you'll be sent even quicker for beating up the Head Boy!

Thunder struck down as I spewed the words at the fifteen year old boy, who by first glance would be seen as innocent. He was going to understand my anger, my hate, and my _pain._ I was going to make him.  
He looked at me and flung his arms out and stepped close. "Why'd you do it, Gary!?"  
I gave a smile. I could feel my adrenaline coursing through my veins. It felt better then what I normally felt, which was the freedom of the medication that I was planned to be on and purposefully skipped.  
It felt like pure sweet exposure.

I paused for a second and I returned back with, "Because I can."  
I growled, putting my palms in front of me and bent down a little for effect, "Because making _little_ people like you and the MORONS that run this school eat out the palm of my hands feels great!"

I thought about my words for a brief moment. Being in charge of idiots, being their ruler, being the Head Boy, it felt like a dream. Something I had been planning for years after years before I went to sleep and stared up at the ceiling. And now, it was coming true, James just being a liability.

The whole school was in chaos trying to murder each other, the principal was tied up, and my rival was right in front of me about to meet his destiny. Everything was going better than I could have dreamed of.

Jimmy stepped closer, but not by much. "But I never did anything to you!"  
I could hear a hint of mercy in his voice. It's almost like he knew what was going to happen next.  
I fired back with, "You would've if-if I had givin' you the chance!"  
I could hear my words becoming slurred. My weak body was starting to slow down. Maybe it's from skipping gym class? Maybe that pervert coach was teaching something my body actually needed.

I screamed suddenly, "Face it! I'm smarter than you!"  
But, unlike what happened in reality, in my dream he didn't say anything. I had a huge grin on my face.  
I, Gary Smith, had stumbled the "AMAZING" Jimmy Hopkins!  
I laughed evilly and loudly, not able to control my happiness any longer.  
I asked in a teasing manner, "What's a matter, idiot?! Have nothing else to say?! Can you not admit that I am superior?!"

Then, from behind Jimmy, came a voice that was familiar. "Gary, it's okay."  
The voice sounded shaky and unsure, almost as if they were surprised by their words. I instantly stopped laughing. I could feel the breeze moving my uneven hair as we stood several feet up on a slick roof. The voice sounded like I knew it, but I couldn't place my mind on who it belonged to. I swallowed and let my guard down slightly, asking, "Who said that?"

The owner of the statement moved up in front of Jimmy. Jimmy didn't move or dare say anything, his head remaining down and eyes staring at his dirty white sneakers.  
The owner of the voice was Petey. He was about five feet from me. His eyes looked scared like normal, but held a very soft expression within them. His mouth hung slightly open as the rain drenched him, his clothes starting to stick to his small body. He looked up at me and calmly whispered, "Gary, its okay."

I didn't understand what he was saying at that moment. I heard the words, but what was the meaning?  
I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "What? What are you talking about you idiot?"  
Peter stared into my eyes and gently assured, "Everything is going to be okay. You don't have to do this."

I felt my face get hot like it did before I started to cry. I looked away, not wanting to give James the satisfaction of showing even a hint of sadness or any expression besides anger. "Do what? What am I doing, moron?"  
I already knew the answer, though. It was a pain inside of me that I had knew about for a long time. The actions I was causing really didn't have to happen. I was just hurt and lashing out. Why was I hurt? Several reasons.  
From my parents abandoning me at Bullworth, my father being very physically abusive, being ignored by the other children, underestimated by the adults, having idiots running the school- it all quickly added up inside of me, causing a bitter hatred for the world.

Petey took a few steps closer. "You don't have to be this way. I am here for you, Gary."  
He grabbed my right hand and held it, his fingers interlocking mine. He repeated softly, "Gary, its okay."  
I looked at the hand that held mine, but remained silent as my head screamed for me to let go and become angry like normal.  
I started to cry, something I very rarely did.

I held on to his hand and bent down on the gravel-cement roof. I let the tears go, not thinking of the quiet Jimmy that stood a few feet away. The small boy bent down next to me, attempting to show comfort. He hushed, "Gary, look at me."  
I looked up sniffling, still feeling the tears stream down my wet face. I gazed into his light brown eyes. He smiled gently and promised, "I will take care of you. Don't worry about Dr. Crabblesnitch o-or the cops. It's going to be okay. We can do this together, Gary. We can explain to them that you are sorry and didn't mean it. Everything will be okay."

I wanted to get up and yell at the boy and start tearing into him, to tell him that it's not going to be okay and that I would be dragged away from my life at Bullworth and thrown into Happy Volts, knowing that that is where most kids who were hopeless went to.  
I can't describe why I wanted to do those harsh things, despite the pure kindness he was showing me.  
But, instead of letting my anger get to me, I let myself fall into his weak arms. I sobbed into his blue vest and pink undershirt as he held me. I felt like a six year old, yet I didn't stop or try to refrain.

I managed to get out the shaky words, "W-What about Jimmy?"  
I looked up with my teary eyes. I noticed Jimmy sitting at the top of the ladder, his feet hanging over as he slumped against it, watching the rain pour down.  
Petey ignored the question. He just cooed quietly, "Sh . . . "  
He hugged me tighter and petted my wet hair."It's going to be okay."

That's where the dream always ends. I snap back to reality and I get up from my back breaking metal bed. I feel the cold concrete against my dirty bare feet, wishing I was wearing my worn gray socks.  
I walk over to my steel door and I start banging on the bars in frustration. I start screaming like a mad man, all of my bottled up emotions desperately trying to escape my rotten mind in any way possible. After about seven minutes of the constant racket, I hear a orderly say to another, "Cell block C, room 34."  
A bored orderly on duty walks to my door and yells, smacking his flashlight against it, "Smith! Quite down!"  
I start screaming louder and hitting my fist harder at the door.

I refuse to back down.

The orderly cusses and yells for assistance. Two men in their forties walk over to my large rusty metal door.  
One of them has a needle with a sticky blue liquid inside, prepped and ready for use. Orderly number one opens the door to my cell and I try to make a run for it. He grabs me by my shoulders before I can make it out the door frame, my body weak and unable to fight back. I am screaming as loud as I can, but I realize something strange.

I am calling for Petey.

Petey: The boy I tortured.  
The one I mercilessly tormented.  
The one my heart cried for.

The orderly backed me against the hard gray brick wall and the guard with the needle followed next to me. He stuck the needle into my arm and drained the fluid in my veins as quickly as he could. I screeched and struggled, trying to break free, though I knew it was worthless.  
They then dragged me over to my rickety bed and laid me sloppily down on it, not caring much. I felt myself losing my awareness to my surroundings as the mystery liquid started taking affect. I was slipping into darkness without control.

But, before I was gone completely, I could see Petey clearly standing next to my bed as the guards left. He glowed slightly, like a angel would. He wore his school outfit and a calm smile. He bent down slowly, placing his left hand on my forehead. The boy whispered quietly,

"Gary, its okay."

I faded away into the darkness, my eyes closing helplessly.


	2. Chapter 2: Claire or Carter?

AN: I have decided to make original oneshot into a story due to the popular outcome. Feel free to leave a review of the story or a prediction of what you think will happen!  
Enjoy!

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 **Chapter Two: Claire or Carter?**

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I woke up the next day in my cold cell after my usual nightmare that resulted in orderlies knocking me unconscious. The floor and walls were cracked hard cement, the room providing no insulation to heat my weak body. A health inspector had probably never visited the facility or if he did he just simply didn't care about the condition the asylum was in. I was constantly cold and hungry, which didn't help with "curing" my madness. My dimly lit room always had me thinking there was something in the shadows even though I knew there wasn't. I never believed in monsters or ghosts, but my mind was starting to trick me otherwise late at night when I would suspect a creature was hidden in the unseen areas under my bed.  
I stood slowly as I yawned, checking my brown leather watch. Nine in the morning? I slept that late? I gave a tiny chuckle as I thought back to Petey and the dream I had, apparently had been exhausted. It wasn't a laugh because it was funny, but rather sad. I'm _still_ having dreams about the incident which ended me up here. Did it mean something, like a spiritual sign, or was I just crazy?  
I stood and walked to my large metal door that sealed me away from the hallways of the building. The schedule at the asylum was actually alright with me. Sleep until we woke up, be let out (if we want to), go outside or to a large rec room that was down the hall, waste time there until dinner or when we wanna go back, eat dinner in our rooms, take a shower in the community showering area, then spend the rest of the night in our rooms. I was fine with all of this because I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to and that included showering. Disgustingly, some inmates haven't showered since they arrived, which may be years ago. The orderlies don't care what we do and without a health inspector to keep things in line, we are basically free.

Ha. "Free".

I slowly knocked on my door and shifted, hating the lingering cold in the air. "Hey! Theo! I'm up!"  
Theo's familiar voice groaned as he stood on guard in the large hallway. Theo muttered to himself, "Sadly, you are."  
He went with his large ring of keys to the door, glancing at me through the small hole near the top. I believe it was made to have bars or glass in between the empty spaces, but nobody bothered. I was impossible to climb out of it, the space being as big as a lunch tray that they typically stuffed through to feed us. He unlocked my door, opened it, and then stood in the doorway. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes down at me. "Alright, Smith. Where are 'ya goin'?"  
I scoffed and matched his attitude, crossing my arms back. I asked, raising an eyebrow, "Would you ask that to another inmate?"  
He chuckled and shook his head, shrugging. "Actually, no, I wouldn't. You are . . . special."  
He laughed, his voice deep as it stung in my ears. He would get what he deserved for the half playful teasing someday.  
I sighed, "I just wanna go watch TV, okay? I'm sick of being in my cell."  
He smirked and stepped aside. "Can't do the time don't do the crime."  
I turned to face him and growled, glaring, "I didn't _do_ anything except lead morons. I didn't _do_ any crime, idiot."  
I stomped off into the hallway that led to the recreation room.

Theo isn't a bad man. He isn't too mean and attempts to show he cares even though his words may say otherwise. He before, when I first arrived and was a screaming and sobbing, waited for me to calm down to chat with me. Each hour he would come and knock on my door and ask me if I was hungry or cold. I, then, would just scream obscene words at him and threaten him through tears. He would just nod, leave, and then return the next hour.  
He did this eight times until I was finally exhausted and slightly relaxed. He had come in and sat on my bed with me. After telling me this place wasn't so bad, attempting to make me feel better, he hugged me. I hadn't experienced a hug or any form of affection in a long time. When he hugged me he mumbled, "You are gonna do just fine here, kid. I can tell you aren't gonna stay here forever. You ain't a lost cause."  
It was that memory that tends to stick with me when things get rough at night or when my thoughts slip towards the idea of ending my life. He was kind and showed it, often giving me a hard time playfully.  
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I like him or consider him a friend, but he is much more understanding then the other staff, who likes to mock me and even go as far as to trip me when I walk by.

I walk to the recreation room and scan it. Three card tables that had the chairs full with patients playing, one static television with a green couch in front, and four large steel doors in the room, including the one I had entered. I sighed as I heard the delusional patients talk and yell at each other over the card game. I sat against the far white brick wall that held the television against it a few feet away. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine, of all places, that I was back at Bullworth. The loud chatting and cold air was the same if I was in my dorm. My dorm was a distant memory. All those hours of planning in my room for several weeks, skipping classes and using others, all gone to waste. Every bit of it. I felt anger start to rise inside of me thinking about how long it took me to devise the plan that I thought was fool-proof. I suddenly heard a voice in my ear next to me say softly, "Belle cicatrice."  
I gave an audible gasp and snapped my eyes open, instantly jerking my head away and looking at the person the voice came from. A person that looked seventeen smiled, crouching next to me. They had tanned skin, dark brown freckles on their face, pink lips that were smirking at me, long dark brown hair that went to the shoulders, and emerald green shimmering eyes. The person smiled and repeated, "Belle cicatrice!"  
I raised an eyebrow. It was hard to determine if it was a male or female. The long hair could go either way and the person didn't have any gender striking features, but wasn't this a male asylum? I asked, not in the mood to mess around with some stranger, "Are you speaking your own language or something? You- How about you just go, huh? I don't feel like listening to some idiot babble on in an imaginary language."  
The person chuckled and sat down next to me. They smiled and stated, "French. I am speaking French. I said, 'nice scar'."  
I scoffed and looked away, apparently the person not getting the hint. I harshly asked, "What are you? A girl? You look like a girl. A stupid one."  
The human laughed and smiled, revealing the straight white teeth. They beamed, "I am a girl, silly."  
I slowly turned to face her. I studied her appearance and cocked an eyebrow, still not sure. She had a completely flat chest and baggy pants, no way of telling without the obvious reveal.

She rolled her eyes when she saw where I was looking. She playfully hit my shoulder and giggled out, "Trust me, okay? I think I would know if I was a girl."  
Her voice sounded feminine. I was very confused.  
I tsked and shrugged, it not mattering. "Alright. Fine. What do you want?"  
She shrugged as she watched me. She whispered happily, "Just looking for someone to sit with."  
I glanced at her and thought for a moment. Was she any useful? She seemed kinda bubbly and ditsy, but it could be just an act. Everybody here has some fake presence about them, like prison. Mine was that I was tougher than I really was, but I would never admit it.  
I guess her sitting with me couldn't hurt too much. As long as she wasn't a total lunatic I could try to put up with her. I gave her a stern look and firmly said, "You can stay, but if you start to annoy me, you're gone. Got it?"  
She squeaked happily and clapped her olive hands together quickly. She squealed, "Thank you! I am really nice!"  
I closed my eyes tightly. She was already annoying. I nodded and mumbled, "Alright. Cool. Whatever."  
She grinned and stuck her hand out. "I'm Claire."  
I opened one eye and saw her hand. Refusing her offer as I reclosed my eye. I blandly returned, "Gary."

She smiled and lowered her hand. "Hey, Gary. That is a _really_ cool scar. How did you get it?"  
I whispered, trying to mentally drown her out, "Icicle accident."  
She smirked. "Really?"  
No. Not really. I never told anyone the real, sad reason why I had this ugly scar across my right eye. Nobody deserved to know except one person who was far away from this dreaded asylum. The one person I was still dreaming of and desperately missing. I often told various stories about how I got my scar. It entertained me because the victims of the false statement always believed it.  
I nodded slowly and lied, "Yeah. Happened a long time ago."

Before she could respond, I opened my eyes and stood. I peered down at the medium height figure and said, "I'm going to my dorm- I mean, cell. Don't follow me."  
I began walking away toward the exit as she scrambled to her feet and grabbed my sleeve. "Gary- Wait!"  
An orderly saw her touch my clothing. The orderly that I wasn't familiar with quickly yelled, "Carter! Don't touch others! We've talked about this."  
I raised an eyebrow and faced her as she removed her small hand from my worn patient uniform. Carter? Was that the first or last name?  
She frowned and took a few steps from me, lowering her head. "Sorry."

I blinked a few times before turning and quickly walking back to my cell. Claire seemed gentle and harmless, but apparently she had a personal space problem. _She_ also seemed like a _he_. I don't recall ever seeing another female in the facility from my short time spent in this awful place. Maybe she really was a girl.  
Or maybe that was just _his_ act.


End file.
